Lovestruck Dumb
by lickitysplit
Summary: Meliodas, firstborn son of the Demon King, leader of the Ten Commandments, scourge of Britannia, has a problem. And that problem has come in the form of a very beautiful, and very unaware, silver-haired goddess. Melizabeth oneshot. Rating for language.


**Summary:** Meliodas, firstborn son of the Demon King, leader of the Ten Commandments, scourge of Britannia, has a problem. And that problem has come in the form of a very beautiful, and very unaware, silver-haired goddess.

 **A/N:** Welcome to another oneshot! I wrote this after seeing a funny YouTube video of a woman swinging on a lamppost. It was a free write idea that I did in a writing chat I share with a few other fic writers, and their encouragement means the world to me, especially BaconWaffle16, LeMaskrada, RaeBlack, and TheGreatLlamaFish, who cheered me on as I wrote. I also must give a huge thank you to AndrogynousInk and Galfridus for formatting my mess and helping me figure out how to make this goofy free write exercise into a readable oneshot. So this is dedicated to my writing pals, who make me laugh every day and keep me motivated. I love you guys!

* * *

Up until this moment, Meliodas had been trying to play it cool. Sure, the goddess was cute. Beautiful. Sexy, whatever. But she didn't know it. And he sure was hell wasn't ever going to tell her he thought that. Because he didn't. Okay he maybe did, but not in _that_ way. They had an alliance, that's it, and he was there to fight and see the Demon King taken down and not to look at some stupid goddess with her stupid long hair and her stupid curves and her stupid sexy smile.

"Hey, Meliodas! Come with me?"

Afterwards, he only had one thought: _fuck._

He hadn't said much, just followed Elizabeth back to where the others were having a small celebration after a well-fought victory. He didn't know why he had gone with her to the party, glaring at the others who were enjoying themselves, his lip curling when one fairy actually patted his shoulder. It had been the first party like this he had ever been to, and feeling completely out of place Meliodas had kept to himself, observing the others as he nursed his drink. The scent of sweet wine and rich ale mixed pleasantly with the little lights hanging from the trees of the Fairy King's Forest and the festive atmosphere. Elizabeth's voice was easy to pick out among the others, the perfect lilt grating on his nerves until his grip actually cracked the clay goblet.

Elizabeth must have seen him alone because she had designated herself his escort, introducing him to others (not that he was going to remember their names) and explaining the different clans they all came from (not that he cared). But some of them were _kind_ of interesting, one of the giants with a halfway decent impression of a gray demon, a human telling a very interesting story about some dragons spotted nearby, a joke shared that made him snicker before he caught himself. Meliodas even had to force his fingers to stay still so they would not tap against the cup he held in time with the flutes and drums that played a jumpy tune he had never heard before.

Then, the unthinkable: Elizabeth had taken him by the hand and pulled him into the dance.

Demons do not dance. Ever. But goddesses do, apparently, and as she spun and laughed and clapped her hands he stood frozen, staring at her in horror. She was utterly carefree in that moment, life and joy and youth and victory all rolled up into one gorgeous ball that made him — him! — want to join in. But the thought of it made him _sick_ , so sick he must have turned some shade of green because when Elizabeth caught sight of him she stopped the movement of her body and gripped his arm to examine him. She had asked him a few times if he was okay, to which he had answered, in order: a vigorous nod of his head, a weird squeaking noise, silence, and then shouting, "I need to go to the bathroom!" before finally stalking away from the group.

Three times he banged his forehead against a tree, well away from the others. The pain felt good, in a bad sort of way. It was training, he told himself. Every time he saw her hair dangling over her shoulder (disgusting, completely unsuited for battle) or her strong arms (who would have thought two twigs could hold a weapon like that) or her shapely legs (god her thighs could crush him, could he even pray for such a death) then _SMACK_ right into the tree again until his head throbbed.

"Meliodas?"

Fuck, fuck, _fuck, fuck_! The one thing he didn't want to hear! Quickly he straightened up and leaned against the tree, pushing his bangs down to hide what he was sure was a red and purple bruise on his forehead. He folded his arms and put on his signature smirk, freezing when she came into view.

She was still wearing the short dress, which showed off _entirely_ too much. If it was up to him, she'd be in turtlenecks and long skirts and boots and a hat and maybe a blanket over all of it. She was barefoot, carrying those shoes that were completely ridiculous. He tried to focus on them, because only a _princess_ would bring something so utterly impractical to an army camp. His pulse quickened a bit, and he nodded. Good, yes, something to focus on. Stupid goddess with her stupid sexy shoes, who even wore something strappy like that in the _woods_ , how could she fight or run or even walk, her long legs looking absolutely _delicious_ in those things . . .

 _Fuck._

"Everything okay? You left so suddenly."

Meliodas huffed in annoyance. "Yeah. Didn't you hear me? I said I had to take a leak." Damn that had sounded so good in his head. What was wrong with him?

"Oh." He glanced up to see Elizabeth standing awkwardly, peering at him through her dark eyelashes. "As long as you're feeling all right."

Another moment of awkward silence, and then he clenched his jaw. _Think, genius, THINK!_ Should he talk about the weather? No, that was stupid. The party? No, he hated parties. Well, he always used to, until _she_ came along and pushed a drink in his hand and laughed so hard he heard her on the other side of camp. The battle? Maybe, that could work — he could talk about the battle and then maybe impress her with some of his insights . . . Yes, yes, this is perfe—

"I'm sure you're tired from the battle today," she says softly, giving him another smile. "I'll let you rest."

Elizabeth turned, and his mind was screaming _THINK STUPID THINK_ so loud he didn't bother to ask himself _why_ he didn't want her to leave.

Instead he yelled, "Elizabeth! Wait a minute. I need to talk to you."

She stopped, and he had only a moment to admire the smooth curve of her back — fuck, he was such a fool, even her _back_? Her goddamn _back_ was getting his stomach in a twist? Fucking hell — and then she turned and blinked at him in surprise. "Sure, what is it?"

His mouth went instantly dry and his palms were spontaneously wet, and he cleared his throat and pulled his chin up. "That uh, dance you showed me earlier —"

"Oh! That!" Elizabeth had the nerve to blush, and in the cool blue moonlight and the soft pink light of the Sacred Tree she looked like a goddamn angel. "I'm sure you found it very strange. I don't know what came over me."

"Yeah, I did find it strange." He walked forward, arms tightly folded, and scowled at her. "What the hell were you thinking? You could have broken your neck."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I've danced loads of times, I don't think —"

"Swinging yourself around like some damn animal. You goddesses are bigger idiots than I thought."

Her eyes went wide, and when the corners went down in disappointment it felt like a thousand knives into his chest. Honestly, he wished there were a thousand knives, stabbing him and putting him out of his misery. "I said I was sorry. No need to be rude."

Meliodas cleared his throat again. "I'm not trying to be rude," he said. He managed to be a _bit_ softer, but his voice was still gritty with aggravation. "I'm thinking of you. You're a princess, and you're wearing _that_ and twirling around like a damn lunatic and if you were with someone not as nice as I am, then you would find yourself in trouble."

Elizabeth frowned and looked down. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

Was this goddess fucking _serious_? "It's too short," he chastised, "and the top is too low. I can see your arms and your legs."

"So what?" she laughed. "They're just arms and legs. Everyone has them."

" _Not just that_ ," he growled through gritted teeth. "You're putting yourself on display. It's not right."

"Putting myself — Oh no! Is that what you think?" She looked embarrassed and furious at the same time, and Meliodas smiled. _Good good_ , now she'll get mad and yell, and hopefully slap him, and then she could leave and he could leave and he could find a lake or a volcano or something to drown himself in because he couldn't stop dragging his eyes up and down her form.

"You don't have to wear something like that," he continued. "You're already beautiful, you could wear a tent and —"

"You think I'm beautiful?"

His eyes snapped up to hers, wide and shining and blue as sapphires, and he couldn't think of a single insult to diffuse the situation. _Tell her she's ugly — tell her she's dumb — no, you did that already —tell her something!_

"Yes," he answered, and immediately prayed for death. An instant, out of nowhere, lighting hitting the tree from a freak storm and severing a branch to fall on him and crush his skull kind of death.

Elizabeth gave a little giggle. The sound reminded him of sunlight in trees and birthday cake and dancing slowly in the grass. What did that even _mean_?

"Thank you," she said. "I think you look very handsome."

At that, he scoffed. "I'm not handsome," he argued with a roll of his eyes. Is this goddess blind? He was a fucking _murderer_. He could crush cities with his boot, he could rip out a heart with his bare hands, warriors quaked with fear at the sight of him. His eyes could pierce armor, his smile made babies cry, his voice carried death to all who heard it. He was not fucking _handsome_.

"Of course you are," she said, and Elizabeth stepped up in front of him. Then she lifted her hand and brushed his hair back, her touch electric and soft, and all that about crushing babies and ripping things apart was replaced with a breathless sort of wanting. "Usually you are so fierce," she went on, "but you were smiling tonight, and seemed to be . . . I don't know. Not _you_."

 _Not you_. What did that mean? Not that he cared; of course he didn't care. Why would Meliodas, prince of demons and the scourge of Britannia, care what a stupid goddess who couldn't even dress herself properly thought of him? But he glanced down anyway, looking at the vest he wore instead of his normal coat, the loose pants that replaced his tight black uniform trousers. He had even replaced the metal boots with the spikes along the side —and he _loved_ those spikes. The fairy who had helped him secure the outfit had assured him that the shoes were the fashion in all the cities in Britannia, like he even cared.

"Well, sorry to disappoint you," he muttered. But it was not as sharp as he intended, and sounded almost hurt.

"I didn't mean that," she laughed. Meliodas looked up and she was smiling again. In all the gods of heaven and hell why did her smile look like that? Why were her lips so damn full, why did they have to be that shade of pink, why did her eyes have to sparkle and her cheekbones be so delicate and her skin so creamy and her face the perfect heart shape? Why did she have to be so perfect?

"Then what did you mean?" Meliodas demanded, his voice coming out a bit breathless.

Her eyes were soft as they traced his face. And then, incredibly, she stepped even closer, so they were only a couple of inches apart. Without her shoes on and with the slight rise from the roots of the tree, the two were stood eye to eye, and Meliodas waited for her response. His body was trembling; _probably from the desire to punch her in the face_ , he told himself.

"I was just . . . Glad to see it. Glad to see another side of you." Her eyes focused briefly on his lips, and he was frozen, unable to move or even think. Had they ever been this close before?

He could see every strand of her hair, every fleck of light, every shade of blue in her eyes. He could see the way her skin was stitched together so perfectly, could make out the tiny scar he knew was above her brow because he was there when it happened, had found his heart in his throat when her face was covered in blood. He could see the shape of her earlobe and the dusky color of her lips, he could smell the faint scent of vanilla combined with the smell of grass and a bit of the smoke from the fire. He could feel the pull of an invisible string to move towards her, to touch her, to have her.

"Meliodas?" she said, and his eyes snapped back to hers. "Have you ever thought . . . Could a demon and a goddess . . ."

Her voice drifted away, and his brow drew slightly down. "A demon and a goddess what?"

"A demon and a goddess . . . " She shrugged one shoulder. "You know . . . That they could be together?"

"Together?"

Then, the unthinkable: he laughed. The nervousness, the energy between them, the pounding of his heart and the leftover adrenaline from the battle and the smell of her hair and the memory of seeing her so strong and wild as she danced came bubbling out of him in a screeching, awful guffaw. It shook him completely, and as his eyes went wide as tears begin to form, rolling down his cheeks, and he clutched his stomach that was churning. He needed to stop laughing so he could explain, he was not laughing at _her_ , but that she had put into words exactly what he'd been wondering —

But her lips drew together tightly as she stepped backwards.

"You're right," she said. "It's a silly idea."

"No, no —" is all he got out, before he hiccuped, oh fuck he _hiccuped_ , like some kid on his first ale, like some kind of _fucking moron_ that would _laugh at a goddess_.

"There's too much to separate us. I mean! I mean them." Elizabeth tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "It would never work. Goddesses and demons are too different." Then she herself giggled and shook her head. "I'm sorry I—I think I just got caught up in the moment."

"Caught? In the moment?" He gaped at her now, his laughter snuffed out like a light, and she giggled again. They were having a moment? That was a _moment_? He'd been alive a hundred years and bedded more creatures than he could count (god, did he hope she never learned _that_ little factoid) but he was too stupid to notice that a moment was happening? What kind of moment? What was she even saying?

He flipped frantically back over the previous thirty seconds, but before he figured it out she turned around. "I'm heading back. Are you coming?"

His thoughts were stuttered by the swish of her skirt around her legs. "Uh, yeah I — No. I mean, no, I don't like parties."

Fucking _hell,_ what was wrong with him? Elizabeth frowned, but nodded. "Okay. I'm sorry I dragged you out then. Have a nice night!"

With that, she headed back towards the sound of music and laughter, and Meliodas sagged against the Sacred Tree. For several minutes he just breathed, focusing on inhaling and exhaling and staying upright and not finding that volcano that was really, _really_ sounding good right now.

What the hell was going on? He hated goddesses. He hated everyone. He was cursed with a power he didn't want, a life of service despite being a prince. His life has been set since the day of his birth, his destiny as a warrior and killer and eventual king made without even a single ask of what _he_ wanted. This was not supposed to be; he was not supposed to be leaning on a tree as his pulse beat wildly and sweat formed on his forehead. He was not supposed to be aching to chase after a stupid bird girl who has more curves than sense and whose sweet voice made him pay attention more than any of Chandler's sharp corrections or his father's dangerous commands.

For another four and a half minutes, Meliodas stood there, counting his breaths in and out. Then he let loose a string of curses that made the flowers at his feet droop before storming back to the celebration, intent on setting the record straight _once and for all._


End file.
